01-06-2017, 04:41 AM
Dante didn't really tune back into the world proper until he reached Tier 4. That transition back might've been mostly on the behalf of the storm of neon lights and grandiose volumes assaulting his senses. As opposed to the reasonable time of day projected just a couple hundred meters above, this section of the layered metropolis played out as the dead of night in a lively downtown. Whatever bigwigs behind the management of this level clearly wanted their citizens to be blinded by the staggering amount of glowing signs and advertisements on display.
That might explain the crime. There lived people here wanting to get rid of the light-tube attractions, and either replace it with the same thing of their own design, or merely leave it so they could get some damn sleep.
Shaking off any more thoughts of sign-related conflict, Dante set out into the consuming contrast of Tier 4. The devil hunter plodded aside the main streets, though to presume he did so out of security would be a misnomer. Dante simply didn't know the layout of the city so well, and so meant to commit the area's primary arteries to memory. He pressed on, back straight, hands calmly at his sides, coat-tails softly billowing with every wake of air a passing vehicle generated.
Anything capable of knocking a veteran Prime down to size wouldn't merely settle themselves in some grubby passage where the infectious illumination didn't quite reach. The half-blood knew from experience that one specialized in an art does best in their own element. Only low-down thugs would remain in a low-down environment, leaving the greater spaces for the masters.
A gravel-lined voice spoke up as the cacophony started to blur: "Hey, mop-head."
That beind said, Dante held no illusions that trouble might not find him. Knowing devils, however, trouble's worst would not dare come looking for him personally, instead sending the smaller fry in vain. To an experienced hunter, it didn't serve much more than an inconvenience.
"Hey, I'm talking to *you*!" The voice accompanied his emphasis with a firm hand- unwashed, bedazzled with jeweled rings, and bulging with flesh as it gripped the mercenary's shoulder.
Dante whipped about, smacking the beefy limb away with a back-handed strike. "Sorry, I'm not having what you're selling," came the decisive reply as his azure eyes locked onto his inconvenience.
Looking like a second-rate body-builder with entirely too much blood in his body, the perpetrator's arm fell limp, and his other came up in response. The other thick hand clutched tightly around the handle of a cruddy blade, seeming entirely redundant considering how the veins bulged around his popping knuckles. Between his hairless head and sharpened ears, a pair of prismatic eyes stared from behind a layer of murk. His set of engorged lips opened up, every movement oozing a clear ichor from between them.
"Your phone, your cash, now," the threat lurched from his throat as if the muscles struggled to say it. The dull orbs of his vision made no indication that he even registered Dante's retort. Reasonably enough, the evil hunter tried again-
"Look, I try and keep a policy not to hurt humans-"
"Wha did you say-?" The thug seethed out, his throbbing arm lurching up to nearly gut Dante under the chin. It would've connected, had the mercenary not caught the scraggly shank with his gloved hand. Dante did not look impressed, or even curious as to this behavior, but the low-life explained it regardless: "Don't you dare lump me with those ass-haired apes, you baby-faced ingrate!"
After a mere moment of consideration, Dante agreed.
A small group of preppie humanoids walked along, freshly disheveled from a session of partying. That club on the midway certainly had a way with their drinks, they agreed, and the lasers and strobe-lights weren't bad either. The primary show had just been the one alien girl, but boy did she know how to swing her stuff around. This was discussed much to the jealousy of a couple males in the company not close enough to get the full eyeful.
The crack of bone sounded from beneath the bruising of flesh as they passed a certain alley. Whatever party-goers didn't immediately snap to attention were instead jostled from their trance by the figure collapsing on the concrete. Both of the low-life's burly hands clapped over his scrunched face, streams of tears and blood leaking from the same grasp that muffled his cries of agony. The young adults were reasonably horrified in witness of this event, many of them standing by with mouths agape.
One of them finally started turning the gears, shouldering past a fellow knife-ear to glance over the set of rings on that hand. "L-Lazarus?!" He exclaimed, as if even his own words were incredulous to his thoughts. Surely, it had to be coincidence that the six rings on this individual's hand were identical to the ones his dear friend wore, not even a month back when they still knew each other. Had their falling out really allowed some grotesque, drugged up monster to take his place?
"You-!" Lazarus's old friend pointed an accusing finger at the man with the red coat, currently grimacing at the fluids he had inadvertently smeared over the sleeve. His silvery hair and honed face had those rounded ears suited to mud-bloods, and the elf drew the obvious conclusions from the smear on his clothes. "What have you done to him?!"
Dante looked up, and without skipping a beat replied honestly, "Probably broke his nose, with an elbow like that."
The elfin male did not look very satisfied with that answer. The rest of his fellows kept looking on in mixed disgust and horror as he took another step forward to confront the assaulter. "I'm sure you think you're hilarious, *human*," the young man laced that final word with venom, as if saying it meant to stick a dagger in the mercenary's heart. "Don't mess with me. Tell me what you did!"
A brief look of confusion creased the devil hunter's face, and he looked between the knife-eared humanoid and the still-writing mass of disproportionate muscle on the ground. His own mental gears soon clicked into place, piecing together the scenario- and what the elf thought the scenario was. Dante couldn't resist releasing a breath of dissatisfaction.
"I told you, I cuffed him across the face," the red-coat repeated, holding out his arms. Clutched in the gloved creases of his hand, the macabre blade could only have been more apparent if he were holding it by the clothed-up handle instead of the crumbling edges. "After he tried to stab me, of course."
A couple of the people in the elf's company redoubled their shock, a couple of other pedestrians throwing the scene some sidelong glances. Above the moaning Lazarus, his friend attempted to formulate a defense despite being in witness of the smoking gun, metaphorical as it were. Why was he attempting to help this sniveling freak, anyways? Could it even be possible at this point that there might lay some dormant measure of his old friend in this bloated husk of an elfin- especially after how their bond ended?
"It's okay- this was clearly a misunderstanding," Dante held his hands up, palms open in surrender; the knife fell from his lost grip and clattered to the concrete earth, the tip of the lame weapon chipping off on impact. The elf realized he had been caught in his thoughts, the fallen blade bringing back to the now. The young man found himself at a loss for what else to say, merely looking down at the remains of his lost ally. That pained howling had gradually transitioned into s sort of half-drowned tantrum, groans and cries of frustration bubbling through his scarlet-soaked face.
"Julius, we should get going-" One of the party-goers tugged on the elf's arm, trying to coax him out of this trance. He pulled free in defiance.
It felt just wrong to leave Lazarus here, but what could even be done for this shell of a humanoid? Julius became faintly aware of the red-coat tromping past them, apparently on his way. He looked up all of a sudden, glancing over to zero in on the parting figure.
"Wait-"
The devil hunter did not wait. The elf wanted to say something more, but found himself unsure of what answer he craved at this moment. It was unlike him, to be so indecisive, and the closer ones among his entourage found this concerning. The others were already starting to shuffle on, the mood considerably doused by this happenstance.
Dante sighed again. That whole scene proved a shame, really. Whatever put that guy under the influence must've been some tough stuff, but it certainly didn't make him any tougher. Some kind of steroid, the mercenary had to guess, yet bearing a huge addictive quality- to the point of dependence, most likely. Whatever the case, nobody deserved to have the stuff in their veins as long as that elfin thug did. And what about that friend he left behind?
It might have been cold or dark, but Dante just couldn't put himself in the position to help right now. There were bigger fish to fry, and the devil hunter still needed to kindle the fire.
That might explain the crime. There lived people here wanting to get rid of the light-tube attractions, and either replace it with the same thing of their own design, or merely leave it so they could get some damn sleep.
Shaking off any more thoughts of sign-related conflict, Dante set out into the consuming contrast of Tier 4. The devil hunter plodded aside the main streets, though to presume he did so out of security would be a misnomer. Dante simply didn't know the layout of the city so well, and so meant to commit the area's primary arteries to memory. He pressed on, back straight, hands calmly at his sides, coat-tails softly billowing with every wake of air a passing vehicle generated.
Anything capable of knocking a veteran Prime down to size wouldn't merely settle themselves in some grubby passage where the infectious illumination didn't quite reach. The half-blood knew from experience that one specialized in an art does best in their own element. Only low-down thugs would remain in a low-down environment, leaving the greater spaces for the masters.
A gravel-lined voice spoke up as the cacophony started to blur: "Hey, mop-head."
That beind said, Dante held no illusions that trouble might not find him. Knowing devils, however, trouble's worst would not dare come looking for him personally, instead sending the smaller fry in vain. To an experienced hunter, it didn't serve much more than an inconvenience.
"Hey, I'm talking to *you*!" The voice accompanied his emphasis with a firm hand- unwashed, bedazzled with jeweled rings, and bulging with flesh as it gripped the mercenary's shoulder.
Dante whipped about, smacking the beefy limb away with a back-handed strike. "Sorry, I'm not having what you're selling," came the decisive reply as his azure eyes locked onto his inconvenience.
Looking like a second-rate body-builder with entirely too much blood in his body, the perpetrator's arm fell limp, and his other came up in response. The other thick hand clutched tightly around the handle of a cruddy blade, seeming entirely redundant considering how the veins bulged around his popping knuckles. Between his hairless head and sharpened ears, a pair of prismatic eyes stared from behind a layer of murk. His set of engorged lips opened up, every movement oozing a clear ichor from between them.
"Your phone, your cash, now," the threat lurched from his throat as if the muscles struggled to say it. The dull orbs of his vision made no indication that he even registered Dante's retort. Reasonably enough, the evil hunter tried again-
"Look, I try and keep a policy not to hurt humans-"
"Wha did you say-?" The thug seethed out, his throbbing arm lurching up to nearly gut Dante under the chin. It would've connected, had the mercenary not caught the scraggly shank with his gloved hand. Dante did not look impressed, or even curious as to this behavior, but the low-life explained it regardless: "Don't you dare lump me with those ass-haired apes, you baby-faced ingrate!"
After a mere moment of consideration, Dante agreed.
A small group of preppie humanoids walked along, freshly disheveled from a session of partying. That club on the midway certainly had a way with their drinks, they agreed, and the lasers and strobe-lights weren't bad either. The primary show had just been the one alien girl, but boy did she know how to swing her stuff around. This was discussed much to the jealousy of a couple males in the company not close enough to get the full eyeful.
The crack of bone sounded from beneath the bruising of flesh as they passed a certain alley. Whatever party-goers didn't immediately snap to attention were instead jostled from their trance by the figure collapsing on the concrete. Both of the low-life's burly hands clapped over his scrunched face, streams of tears and blood leaking from the same grasp that muffled his cries of agony. The young adults were reasonably horrified in witness of this event, many of them standing by with mouths agape.
One of them finally started turning the gears, shouldering past a fellow knife-ear to glance over the set of rings on that hand. "L-Lazarus?!" He exclaimed, as if even his own words were incredulous to his thoughts. Surely, it had to be coincidence that the six rings on this individual's hand were identical to the ones his dear friend wore, not even a month back when they still knew each other. Had their falling out really allowed some grotesque, drugged up monster to take his place?
"You-!" Lazarus's old friend pointed an accusing finger at the man with the red coat, currently grimacing at the fluids he had inadvertently smeared over the sleeve. His silvery hair and honed face had those rounded ears suited to mud-bloods, and the elf drew the obvious conclusions from the smear on his clothes. "What have you done to him?!"
Dante looked up, and without skipping a beat replied honestly, "Probably broke his nose, with an elbow like that."
The elfin male did not look very satisfied with that answer. The rest of his fellows kept looking on in mixed disgust and horror as he took another step forward to confront the assaulter. "I'm sure you think you're hilarious, *human*," the young man laced that final word with venom, as if saying it meant to stick a dagger in the mercenary's heart. "Don't mess with me. Tell me what you did!"
A brief look of confusion creased the devil hunter's face, and he looked between the knife-eared humanoid and the still-writing mass of disproportionate muscle on the ground. His own mental gears soon clicked into place, piecing together the scenario- and what the elf thought the scenario was. Dante couldn't resist releasing a breath of dissatisfaction.
"I told you, I cuffed him across the face," the red-coat repeated, holding out his arms. Clutched in the gloved creases of his hand, the macabre blade could only have been more apparent if he were holding it by the clothed-up handle instead of the crumbling edges. "After he tried to stab me, of course."
A couple of the people in the elf's company redoubled their shock, a couple of other pedestrians throwing the scene some sidelong glances. Above the moaning Lazarus, his friend attempted to formulate a defense despite being in witness of the smoking gun, metaphorical as it were. Why was he attempting to help this sniveling freak, anyways? Could it even be possible at this point that there might lay some dormant measure of his old friend in this bloated husk of an elfin- especially after how their bond ended?
"It's okay- this was clearly a misunderstanding," Dante held his hands up, palms open in surrender; the knife fell from his lost grip and clattered to the concrete earth, the tip of the lame weapon chipping off on impact. The elf realized he had been caught in his thoughts, the fallen blade bringing back to the now. The young man found himself at a loss for what else to say, merely looking down at the remains of his lost ally. That pained howling had gradually transitioned into s sort of half-drowned tantrum, groans and cries of frustration bubbling through his scarlet-soaked face.
"Julius, we should get going-" One of the party-goers tugged on the elf's arm, trying to coax him out of this trance. He pulled free in defiance.
It felt just wrong to leave Lazarus here, but what could even be done for this shell of a humanoid? Julius became faintly aware of the red-coat tromping past them, apparently on his way. He looked up all of a sudden, glancing over to zero in on the parting figure.
"Wait-"
The devil hunter did not wait. The elf wanted to say something more, but found himself unsure of what answer he craved at this moment. It was unlike him, to be so indecisive, and the closer ones among his entourage found this concerning. The others were already starting to shuffle on, the mood considerably doused by this happenstance.
Dante sighed again. That whole scene proved a shame, really. Whatever put that guy under the influence must've been some tough stuff, but it certainly didn't make him any tougher. Some kind of steroid, the mercenary had to guess, yet bearing a huge addictive quality- to the point of dependence, most likely. Whatever the case, nobody deserved to have the stuff in their veins as long as that elfin thug did. And what about that friend he left behind?
It might have been cold or dark, but Dante just couldn't put himself in the position to help right now. There were bigger fish to fry, and the devil hunter still needed to kindle the fire.